A Founder's Tale
by lestark
Summary: The story of the four founders told in multiple POVs.


**Author note: All Harry Potter rights belong to JK Rowling. Some characters in this story do not belong to me. The story is told in multiple point of views. The first two chapters are prologues. Constuctive criticism is welcomed and encourage :)**

**Rowena POV**

The fire cackled in the silence of the hut she called her home, yet also served as her hell. Rowena believed something was wrong with her and she had no doubts of it. Her father referred to her as the demon spawn and frequently showered her in what was called holy water. It did not sting. It felt like ice cold water against her skin and made her flinch when he sprayed it into her face. Her mother watched whilst these horrors took place. These acts of abuse forced by a man she had no control over. Her mother hardly even cried for her. Had she learned to believe Rowena was indeed a form of the devil?

Often, her father told her how kind he was for not revealing her to the townsfolk for they would burn her before she could draw her next breath. A child of twelve. Would they dare? She was treated as an unwanted human being. Rowena continuously repeated to herself that her talents were a gift from God. She was a devoted Catholic and she found it silly to think a Catholic could also serve Satan.

Her prayer room was where she found peace. Located in the playroom she built for herself beneath the ground about seven feet away from the hut, the room was filled with candles that smelled of a sweet scent Rowena never grew tired of. Nightly, she would light one candle and pray for her father no matter how she hated him. She prayed for him, fearing he may earn the least happiness in the eyes of God. He had already been cursed with a 'demon child'.

Once, Rowena saw him beat her mother. He claimed her mother had relations with the devil and so Rowena was conceived. When Rowena would go into town, she heard whispers of her father and how naturally insane he was. People she had never seen would give her their bread in pity and she'd kindly nibble on it in return to show how grateful she was. Rowena refused to believe her father was wrong in the head. She wanted to have a family that was normal, but her condition made it impossible.

Broken vases and cracked windows earned her a whipping with her father's belt. She was always blamed, but she could not help it. She did not intend to break things, it all just happened without much control. Usually in fits of anger that were quite often. It was why her father believed her to be evil. He called her a witch occasionally. He told her sad stories of witches who were hanged or burned for their acts of dark magic against others. Had they deserved such punishments? If Rowena was truly what her father called a witch, there had to be good witches too. Rowena was one of them.

Rowena sat quietly at the dinner table while she listened to the soothing noise of the fire flicker intensely. She twirled a black feather between her fingers that she believed to be from a raven. She adored ravens despite their somewhat annoying tendencies. She found them to be uniquely beautiful just like herself.

Her shoulders tensed up when the front door slammed open to reveal her father drenched in water. Should she even dare look up? Not even ten seconds later was the feather ripped from her hands and she cried for it. He threw it into the fire before he grabbed harshly onto her weakened wrist that began to suddenly ache.

"Why have you caused this rain while I walked home, girl? Do you hate me so?" He asked roughly.

Rowena shook her head in response and intended to testify, but she found it no use. When the angels were sad, they would cry and their tears would fall from the heavens. Sometimes, God was angered for their sorrow and so lightning and thunder would follow close behind. She knew to object may result in severe consequences for a man could say no wrong and do no wrong. But why should the angels be sad on this nightfall?

He forced her from the chair with far too much ease and brought her close to the fireplace just as her mother appeared from the doorway in the kitchen. Again, nothing was done. Rowena looked to her mother with pleading eyes, but the woman looked back as if she were to say "I cannot help you."

In reaction to the close flame, Rowena used her strength to pull from the rough grasp of her father's hard hands. His strength was overbearing and Rowena herself was only a young girl. The flickering flames called for her and it looked as if arms stretched towards her to welcome her in. It was not until this moment had she realized the last straw had been drawn. Her father intended to burn her how he said the townsfolk would.

Rowena screamed for her mother and had they lived near others, perhaps the townfolk would come to her aid. The screams of a terrified child pierced Rowena's own ears in a sharp pain, yet she did not stop. Her last glimpse of her mother was that dark and mussy hair tied into a bun. The woman covered her ears and returned to the heat of the kitchen with a somewhat saddened grimace.

The grip around her wrist grew tighter when her father forced her to kneel. He grabbed hold of her own dark hair and taunted her with the fire. Her eyes widened and her heart began to race each time he forced her closer to the flame. Naturally, she began to sob deeply. With her free hand, she grabbed hold of her father's arm, his fingers still tangled tightly into her hair. Her nails dug into his arm while she tried desperately to keep herself upright, yet he had not reacted. In one final movement with the intention to shove her face into the open flame, Rowena was able to resist for the cost of her life. Her nose brushed the flame and she panicked, fearing the flame had burned her nose and she would forever be scarred. She gave one last ear ringing scream and her father pulled back, detaching his grips from her wrist and hair.

When Rowena turned to face him with eyes still widened in fear, he cradled his arm as if it had been injured. When his eyes fell back on Rowena, there was an angered expression she had never before seen. With that, she did not hesitate to run for the door where she shut it behind her to slow him down. She knew he'd follow.

The moment Rowena set foot outside, lightning struck and she knew God had been angered. She ran as fast as her legs would allow as they eventually grew sore with pain hard to endure. She screamed for help, but the townsfolk were not near and the rain drowned out any screams. She looked back and she had been right. Her father's long legs gained on her and so she pushed harder, letting out a painful grunt.

When she heard an abnormally loud thud through the rain, she again turned without stopping. Her father lay there, twisting about as if he was intense pain. However, Rowena did not stop for him. She knew what it was for she had accidentally done it before to a little boy who took her flower. It was some sort of pain inflicting magic that thrived off anger.

When her father did not get up, it felt as if she had been released from the grip of the devil. She continued to run until the noise of the nearby town pleasantly greeted her. The rain had mellowed until there was eventually none and the purple sky could now be seen as the clouds cleared from view. She slowed herself, soaking wet and now cold. Secretively, she hid in one of the food-stands that had already been abandoned for the night. She curled into the corner of the small stand that sheltered her from sight. Slowly, yet surely, she fell into a soundless and peaceful sleep. The first in years.


End file.
